


Moonbeams and Poetry

by Izzyfandoms



Series: Clouds and Moss AU [4]
Category: Cartoon Therapy (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Human, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23882767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzyfandoms/pseuds/Izzyfandoms
Summary: Emile had a problem, and it was getting out of hand.He fell in love far too often, and far too easily.And not with people, either, not usually. No, with stories.He fell in love with the handsome heroes and perfect princes that leapt off the pages of his favourite books, through the stories people told, right into his daydreams, and then into his poems. These were often his best works, his most favourites, coming straight from the heart, but he could never show them to another living soul. His family and few friends already thought him to be odd – an eccentric loner, one who didn’t belong. They didn’t understand him, they’d never understand this.But, now? He had somehow managed to fall for someone even more spectacularly out of his league.Emile had fallen for Remy, the god of the moon.
Relationships: Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders
Series: Clouds and Moss AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584703
Comments: 14
Kudos: 89





	Moonbeams and Poetry

Emile had a problem, and it was getting out of hand. 

He fell in love far too often, and far too easily. 

And not with people, either, not usually. No, with _stories_. 

He fell in love with the handsome heroes and perfect princes that leapt off the pages of his favourite books, through the stories people told, right into his daydreams, and then into his poems. These were often his best works, his most favourites, coming straight from the heart, but he could never show them to another living soul. His family and few friends already thought him to be odd – an eccentric loner, one who didn’t belong. They didn’t understand him, they’d never understand this. 

But, now? He had somehow managed to fall for someone even more _spectacularly_ out of his league. 

Emile had fallen for Remy, the god of the moon. 

There were just so many wondrous stories about him – he was one of the most worshipped gods, after all, applicable to most everyone – about his various antics and adventures, about his countless lovers (both divine and mortal alike), with vivid descriptions of his eternal beauty. There were numerous statues, too, especially in his temples – which Emile frequented often – of his most-used form, and Emile couldn’t look at any of them without his heart skipping a beat. 

Emile paused mid-step, running his fingers through his already mussed up hair, his eyes scanning over his piece of paper, over the words he’d just been writing, a third of them already scribbled out. It was okay, he could write a perfect copy later – dotting every I with a star and doodling hearts and crescent moons across the page – and add it to his ever-expanding collection, hidden in his desk drawer. His hands were speckled with ink stains, matching the freckles on his face, and there was a smear of black on his cheek that he’d yet to notice. 

“His skin was woven from moonlight,” Emile mumbled to himself, before wrinkling his nose and shaking his head as the line still didn’t sound quite right. 

He sat down on his bed, smoothing out the sheets beside him and pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged, his back against the wall, balancing his paper on one knee. 

“His hair... no, his eyes...” 

“I like the part about my hair.” 

Emile yelped, his paper slipping off his leg and his pen falling through his fingers, cluttering to the ground and hitting the floorboards noisily. His glasses almost fell right off his face, but he caught them just in time, pushing them back up his nose. He couldn’t afford to let them shatter, not now. His head then swivelled around, his eyes immediately landing on the man now sitting casually on his windowsill, his legs crossed, one over the other, who definitely hadn’t been there just a minute earlier. 

It took a moment for Emile’s vision to adjust, to separate the beams of moonlight that shone through the window from the moon god’s smooth, identical skin. They were one and the same, made up of the exact same material, Emile could only tell them apart because Remy wanted him to. His hair and his eyes were as black as night, matching his clothes and the sky behind him, speckled with tiny, near-invisible stars. He looked like one of those gorgeous, hand-carved statues had burst to life, stepping right off their pedestal and wandering up to Emile like it was nothing, and Emile was sure he was going to melt on the spot. 

Remy grinned, showing off two rows of perfect white teeth that shone like moonlight, and tilted his head to one side, looking over Emile with an indecipherable expression. 

“Wow,” Emile breathed, before he could stop himself. “You’re beautiful.” 

There was a beat, and then his eyes widened dramatically, his hands shooting up to cover his mouth, as he certainly hadn’t meant to say that out loud. 

Fortunately, the god didn’t seem offended in the slightest, just amused, and with a slight twinkle in his eye. 

“Well, I’ve never heard that one before,” He mused. 

Emile blinked, dropping his hands and tilting his head. “That... that _can’t_ be right.” 

Remy thought about it for a moment, humming. “Hmm, I suppose you’re right. But never from someone as pretty as you before,” He said, leaning forward, his hands still gripping the windowsill, watching Emile with a teasing grin. 

Emile’s heart was going to burst (and what a way to die that would’ve been), it was racing so fast. He was sure that his face had turned even redder than a strawberry, his eyes wide, which couldn’t have been very attractive, but Remy was staring at him like he was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. He didn’t blink, he didn’t need to, which perhaps should’ve been a little off-putting, but Emile couldn’t stop staring at him. 

(Was he dreaming? Was this all just a dream – a wonderful, fantastic dream? Simply a product of his subconscious? And did that really matter? Remy was the god of dreams, too, after all. Was he any more real in dreams versus reality? Did even he know the answer to that?) 

“But you must’ve come across so many humans in your lifetime?” 

Remy nodded, his eyes shining, entertained. “I have,” He said, as if that changed nothing. Then, he paused. “Can I see that?” He continued, gesturing to the paper that now lay face-up, abandoned, on the floorboards. 

Emile slid off the bed, bending down and snatching it up quickly. He held it to his chest protectively, guarding the words like they were precious secrets he was desperate to keep. 

“It’s, um... it’s not done,” He said weakly. 

Remy didn’t say anything else, just tilted his head, waiting. 

“Uh...” Emile swallowed, mulling things over for a moment, before he slowly walked up to the god, cautiously handing him the paper. “Here.” 

Remy took it, his fingertips almost brushing against Emile’s, but not quite, barely a centimetre apart, though that was probably a good thing, as Emile likely wouldn’t have been able to handle the physical contact. He wouldn’t have put it past himself to pass out. He then took a step back, fiddling awkwardly with his hands and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. He held his breath as the moon god’s eyes scanned the page, reading the lines, his expression unchanging. 

Then, Remy glanced back up at him. 

“It’s good,” He complimented smoothly. “Can I keep it?” 

Emile nodded before he could really think it through, and then watched, wide-eyed and nervous, as the paper sunk into Remy’s hands, through his skin, disappearing as if absorbed. The unfinished words lingered on his skin for another moment or two, flashing silver, before they, too, were gone. 

Emile didn’t understand what had just happened, but didn’t have the chance to ask, before Remy melted back into the moonlight, leaving nothing but a feeling of emptiness in Emile’s soul behind. 

Had he ever really been there in the first place? 

*** 

To Emile’s surprise, it turned out that, yes, Remy had been there, as he returned again three days later, sitting with Emile and talking with him for hours and hours about nothing, and everything. 

And then two days after that. 

(Remy read another poem, and another and another and another, complimenting them as he did so, and then gave Emile a charming smile that made him want to kiss him until he ran out of breath.) 

And then a week after that. 

(They held hands as they talked, Remy letting Emile ramble on about his day, and Emile couldn’t stop smiling for hours afterwards.) 

And then three days after that. 

(Emile fell asleep listening to Remy sing.) 

And then, by the sixth visit, it had somehow become a semi-regular occurrence, which Emile couldn’t possibly hope to understand. Why would a god want to spend so many nights with him? It didn’t seem real, but Emile was too busy floating on cloud nine to care. 

“Hey,” Remy greeted, his arms crossed and laying on top of Emile’s windowsill. His legs were floating in the air behind him, drifting up and down at a leisurely pace, and Emile wondered what his neighbours would think if he saw him. “Can I come in?” 

Emile giggled, putting down his pen and smiling at Remy. “It’s not like you to ask,” He teased. 

(He was teasing a god, a _god_. What had his life come to?) 

Remy grinned widely, hopping through the window, and then strolled up to Emile’s desk, where the human was sat. He stopped just behind his chair, wrapping his arms around Emile’s neck, placing his chin on his curly head of hair, and peering over to see what he was working on. Emile froze, his breath hitching, but then immediately tried to pretend that that hadn’t happened, though there was no way that Remy hadn’t noticed. He leant forward, covering his paper with his arms, trying very hard to ignore his rapidly reddening cheeks, and Remy pouted. 

“Why can’t I see it?” 

“It’s not done, yet,” Emile explained. 

Remy huffed, though he didn’t actually seem too annoyed, as he didn’t argue, and just stayed where he was, pressed against Emile’s shoulders. 

After a moment, his grin returned, and though Emile couldn’t see it, he could practically sense it. 

“Is it about me?” Remy teased playfully. 

“Um...” 

Perhaps Emile should have ceased writing these poems since meeting and befriending Remy, but he just couldn’t help himself. He continued spilling his feelings through his pens, onto the paper, into his poems, despite their newly blossoming friendship. His attraction to the god – previously shallow and based solely on stories and statues and appearances – had increased tenfold since their first meeting. He was just... perfect. Indescribably perfect. All of the tales and legends had described him as smug, self-centred and flirtatious – vain, too. And whilst these descriptions weren’t quite _wrong_ , per se, they were incomplete. Missing multiple pieces. He was also playful and funny, teasing Emile almost constantly, and not quite as arrogant as he’d first seemed. 

His beauty was unmatched. 

“So, it is, then?” Remy smirked. 

Emile opened and closed his mouth, his face warming further. 

Then, suddenly, Remy took a step back, removing his arms from around Emile – to the human’s obvious disappointment – and flicking his wrist, causing Emile’s chair to spin around to face him. Emile blinked, surprised, his eyes widening, his face still flushed, his hands tightly gripping the arms of his chair so he didn’t slip off. 

He looked up at Remy, who was still grinning smugly. 

“Hmm?” Remy tilted his head, still awaiting Emile’s answer. 

Emile cleared his throat, awkwardly looking down at his lap. “Um... maybe?” 

He then bit his lip, glancing back up at Remy and watching as the god stared at him, his eyes drifting downwards, remaining on Emile’s lips for a few moments, before moving back up to look into his eyes. Emile’s heart was pounding in his chest, and he was sure that Remy could hear it. He could hear everything. 

There was a beat. 

(A heartbeat.) 

And then Remy moved forward, placing one hand on the back of the chair, over Emile’s shoulder, and the other on his arm, leaning in close so their faces were only inches apart. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asked suddenly. 

Emile’s eyes widened even further, and he inhaled sharply in surprise, but before Remy could pull back and apologise, he answered quickly. 

“Yes!” 

Emile didn’t have the time to really process what was happening after he said that, as Remy’s hand immediately moved to cup his cheek, and then his lips were on Emile’s, and it was suddenly impossible to think of anything but him, him, _him_. 

For a brief moment, it was like kissing a marble statue – cold and solid, too smooth and uncomfortable – but then Remy softened, his touch now gentle, his lips still cool but now feeling almost human. Remy kissed him like he was handling a beam of moonlight, like Emile was fragile and breakable (and he was, compared to Remy), but skilled, so skilled. He knew what he was doing. 

Emile would keep kissing him forever, if he could. 

When Remy pulled back – his mouth remaining oh-so close to Emile’s – Emile whined softly, involuntarily, and Remy huffed out a quiet laugh against his lips. 

“Can we, um... can we keep doing that?” Emile asked, breathing softly, sure that his face couldn’t get any warmer. 

Remy hummed an ambiguous answer, but Emile didn’t have the chance to question him any further before Remy’s lips were on his again, his hands slipping down Emile’s sides as the human wrapped his arms around the god’s neck, pulling him in closer. 

They didn’t talk for a while after that. 

*** 

It was impossible to forget that Remy wasn’t human. 

Sure, sometimes he _looked_ human enough, when he wanted to. Sometimes his skin was more peach than moon-white, his eyes more earth-brown than night-black. If Emile hadn’t known him so well, he wouldn’t have been able to distinguish this form – a near-perfect imitation – from any regular human’s. But, even then, his skin was perfect and unmarred, his cheeks never rosy, and his eyes shone with ancient, incomprehensible knowledge. They were the night sky; it was impossible to truly hide that. 

And he never behaved quite human-like, either. 

His kisses were like nothing Emile had ever experienced before, like touching moonbeams, like floating amongst the stars – cool and perfect and practically addicting. Whenever he held Emile, it was like being wrapped up in moonlight, protected from the dangers of the world, and he’d never felt safer, never felt happier. It was bliss: pure, unwavering bliss. 

And Remy always moved like he was floating, dancing – flawless and perfect. He never missed a step, never stumbled, not even once. 

He stared a lot, too: unblinking, unmoving, practically a frozen, marble statue. It often looked like he was staring right into Emile’s soul, reading him like a poem. Emile wasn’t sure he would’ve minded if that was the case. 

Emile shifted, nudging Remy with his elbow and breaking the god’s trance. 

“What are you looking at?” He teased. 

(Teased, teased, _teased._ ) 

Remy blinked, like a statue coming to life, and then smiled, taking Emile’s hand in his own, much colder one. He didn’t squeeze it – Remy never wanted to risk hurting him, even though he was always perfectly in control of his own strength – just held it softly. His skin was like smooth, perfect stone for just a moment, before it changed, like melting into flesh. 

“You,” He said simply, as he always did. “You’re gorgeous.” 

That was always such a silly thing for him to say, in Emile’s opinion. Compared to the eternal beauty of a god, Emile was nothing. You may compliment and smile at a child’s first experiments with clay, but they will always pale in comparison to the flawless creations of a practiced sculptor. 

He didn’t say that, though – didn't want to ruin the otherwise pleasant moment – and instead just smiled back, leaning forward to affectionately nuzzle his nose against Remy’s. The gesture was quickly returned, and Emile sighed contentedly, his eyes fluttering closed as he moved again, pressing his lips against Remy’s with a kiss that was immediately and enthusiastically reciprocated. 

Cold, and then slightly warmer. Stone, and then flesh. 

It ended too quickly, however, as, to Emile’s disappointment, Remy suddenly pulled away with an exasperated groan. 

Emile tilted his head, making a quiet, questioning noise. 

“My brother’s summoning me,” Remy explained, leaning back on his hands and rolling his eyes in annoyance. “He knows I don’t like to be disturbed when I’m with you.” 

Emile blinked, surprised. “He knows about me?” He asked softly. 

That was news to him. 

“Of course, he does,” Remy answered simply, shrugging, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s my brother, and it’s been, like, six months, babe. I told him ages ago.” 

It _had_ been about six months since their first kiss – the best six months of Emile’s life. He had almost expected the god to never show up again after that first night, but he _had_ , again and again and again, almost every night since, and Emile had found himself falling deeper and deeper in love with every encounter. 

(This couldn’t end well. It just couldn’t. Remy would move on eventually; it was an inevitability – a relationship between a god and a human was unsustainable at best, and Emile’s heart would soon break. It would shatter like a mirror – seven years of bad luck – into a million tiny shards, and it would be practically impossible to put the pieces back together again.) 

(But was that really certain? If Remy had told his brother, Thomas, the almighty king of the gods, who surely had better things to talk about, then... then, maybe Emile meant more to him than he’d thought. Maybe...) 

Emile pushed that thought down. That kind of hope was dangerous. 

“Ages ago?” He prompted. 

Remy nodded, though he looked a little distracted, like he was listening to something: maybe a voice in his head, a whisper in his ear, or maybe something a little more abstract, more of a feeling. There was no way for Emile to know. 

Emile smiled, though it was a little sad, placing his hand on Remy’s arm and squeezing it lightly. 

“It’s alright,” He said sympathetically. “I get it. These things can’t be helped. You should go, it might be important.” 

Remy sighed. “Ugh, you’re probably right.” 

He looked up at the ceiling, like he was looking right through it, glaring at and silently cursing out the sky. This continued for another moment or two, before he turned back to Emile, taking his hand and pressing a surprisingly warm kiss to the knuckle. He held it there for another moment or two, before pulling back, giving Emile a small smile. 

Remy was so close that Emile could see all the stars in his eyes (he could practically count them) a sight that he’d never tire of. 

There was a beat. 

“I love you,” Remy said suddenly. 

Emile’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and he could’ve sworn his heart had just stopped in his chest. He felt a little faint, like he might pass out, his mouth opening and closing a few times. He didn’t know how to put into words the sudden wave of love and shock and pure _joy_ that had just washed over him. 

“I... I love you, too,” Emile whispered, when the words finally unstuck from his throat. 

Remy smiled, reaching out and cradling Emile’s cheek with his hand – light and gentle. He then leant forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to his lips. He pulled back before Emile could really start to enjoy it, though, and it was like suddenly waking up from the best dream Emile had ever had. 

“I have to go,” Remy said softly. 

“I know.” 

“I’ll be back tomorrow night,” Remy assured him. “If you’ll have me.” 

Emile smiled. “Always.” 

Another moment passed, with lingering eye contact that seemed to last eons, and then Remy disappeared, as quickly and suddenly as he often appeared. 

In his place, he left a blurry silhouette, like a portion of the night sky had been brought right into Emile’s bedroom, stars and all. The edges were fuzzy, and if Emile looked too hard, it made his head hurt, like he wasn’t supposed to be able to comprehend it. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away, that wouldn’t feel right, so he just kept staring, watching as it melted away, until he was truly alone again. 

Emile lay down on his bed, his limbs spread out like a starfish, staring up at the ceiling as the weight of the words Remy had spoken finally hit him. 

Remy... loved him. 

Remy loved him? 

Remy loved him. 

Oh. 

_Oh._

Emile burst into thrilled, ecstatic laughter, burying his face in his hands as it spilled out of him like an overflowing waterfall of emotions. He was giddy with delight, beaming so wide his face almost hurt, but he couldn’t possibly have cared any less about the pain. He was so full of joy, it felt like he was amongst the stars, amongst the heavens, like the weight of the world had just been lifted from his shoulders. He felt like he could do anything, anything imaginable. 

Remy loved him. 

*** 

That night, Emile dreamt he was the size of the moon, floating in space beside the bright white crescent, feeling the stars’ warm light on his bare skin. The night sky was a blanket, wrapped around him, holding him right, keeping him safe. It was warm and soft, like the comfiest bed he’d ever been in, and if he hadn’t already been sleeping, he was sure he would’ve fallen asleep right then and there. 

Then, the moon turned over, and suddenly it was Remy, reclining beside him, one leg over the other, watching him with the same half-curious, half-amused expression that he often wore. 

Emile felt Remy’s hands on his skin – cool and soft – though the moon god hadn’t moved another inch, his hands still folded in his lap. 

“Is this what you usually dream about?” Remy asked. 

He didn’t speak the words aloud, his mouth remaining firmly closed, but Emile heard the words in his mind, as clearly as if they’d been spoken. 

“Are you real?” Emile thought, the words projecting from his thoughts, echoing through the dream, and then landing in Remy’s mind. 

Remy laughed, sliding closer and cupping Emile’s cheek with his hand. His touch wasn’t quite as light and careful as it usually was; it didn’t need to be, Emile wasn’t quite so breakable in here. 

Remy ran his thumb over Emile’s lips. “Honey, I’m always real.” 

“Always?” 

“Always,” Remy nodded, tracing invisible constellations across Emile’s skin with his other hand. “In every dream, every nightmare, every star in the sky, I exist. It’s always night somewhere, there’s always a moon shining in the sky, always moonlight shining through someone’s window. Even if you can’t see me, I’m always there. I can exist in multiple places at once – I always exist in multiple places at once – and I’m existing right now, with you.” 

Emile leant into his touch. “It must get confusing.” 

“Not to me,” Remy smiled. “This is just how I exist.” 

“What’s it like?” 

Remy made a quiet sound – it was almost like humming, if the stars hummed back, a symphony of music – his hands still dancing over Emile’s body. The touch felt almost real; everything about this dream felt more solid and real than any other Emile had ever experienced, though he knew that that was likely due to Remy’s influence. Time passed differently there, too, like they’d been there for either a moment or an eternity. Both at once. 

“I don’t know,” Remy admitted eventually. “It’s all I've ever known. I have nothing to compare it to. I can’t explain it.” 

Emile nodded as if he understood. 

“Oh,” He said. “Is it... nice?” 

“Yes,” Remy answered. “But it gets lonely, sometimes.” 

“Lonely?” 

Remy laughed. It was a big, echoing sound, and Emile felt in resonate throughout his whole body. “I know. It’s silly, right? I’m a god – I have the whole world in the palm of my hand. I can do anything I want, see anything I want, see anyone I want. And yet, I’m... lonely.” 

“It’s not silly,” Emile reassured. “It’s understandable.” 

Remy smiled, though it was still a little sad. “There’s no one else like me in the whole universe, no one at all – not even my brother. We may both be divine, may both be immortal, but we’re opposites. Night and day. Darkness and light. Moon and sun. We oppose one another. I’ll never truly understand him; he’ll never truly understand me. That’s just how it works.” 

“That’s... sad.” 

Remy gave Emile an undecipherable expression, though it was unmistakably loving, looking him over, before reaching out and cradling his face in both hands. 

“It’s life,” He said. “But I feel a lot less lonely when I’m with you.” 

*** 

Emile wanted to cry. 

His feelings, his dread. They only increased with every passing day. Whenever he was with Remy, they went down, overtaken by his overwhelming love and joy. When he was with him, he felt better, more at peace. 

But when he was alone, especially during the day, it could become practically unbearable. 

Emile pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs and burying his face in them, trying his best to keep the tears that pricked his eyes from falling. His breath was shaky and his heart felt tight, like someone was sitting on his chest. 

He had to breathe, breathe, _breathe_. 

(Remy would move on eventually, leaving Emile behind. He’d had hundreds of lovers in the past, maybe even thousands, too many to count, who knows how many he’d loved and left. Once this was all over, Emile wouldn’t stand out amongst them, amongst gods and heroes, amongst all the people Remy had loved before. He’d be forgotten by the one he loved most.) 

Emile tugged at his hair, like he was trying to forcibly remove those nasty thoughts from his head. 

(And even if Remy never left him, Emile would die someday. It was the curse of mortality. The thought of breaking Remy’s heart like that was killing him.) 

There was a bad taste in his mouth. 

(But the thought of Remy moving on afterwards didn’t feel much better, and that filled Emile with guilt.) 

(There was no point in thinking about that, though. Remy was a god; Emile was a human. Their views on this relationship were different. Remy knew what was inevitable, knew that this was only temporary, Emile just had to accept it.) 

Emile finally allowed himself to sob, to let the tears drip down his face, his lower lip quivering and his hands shaking. He clutched desperately at the blankets beneath him, letting them bunch up in his fists, releasing them and then grabbing them again and again repetitively. He knew that his thoughts were ridiculous, that he was overthinking things, that he should just enjoy his time with Remy while it lasted and not worry about it, but he just couldn’t help himself, he just couldn’t calm himself down. 

He exhaled shakily. 

This was fine, he could handle this. As long as he calmed down by sunset, Remy would never know of his distress, and he could pretend that everything was okay. 

(Remy. Remy. _Remy_.) 

There was a flash of moon-bright light, and then suddenly Remy was right in front of him, standing in the middle of the room, his brow creased with worry. He immediately walked up to Emile, sitting on his bed and placing his hand on his arm. 

“Honey, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?” 

Emile looked up at him with wide, startled eyes. “How- Remy, it’s daytime, what are you doing here?” 

“You were praying to me,” Remy explained, the concerned look never fading. “I didn’t think you meant to, so I didn’t listen too hard, I didn’t want to pry. What’s wrong? Talk to me.” 

He looked a little different during the day – a little less shiny, a little less divine, a little more down to earth. He was still obviously a god, but not in his natural habitat. Weaker, but still beyond anything Emile could ever hope to reach. The sunlight that shone through the open window seemed to make him uncomfortable, making him fidget, but not enough for him to move away from Emile. 

Emile sniffled, looking down at his lap, fiddling anxiously with his hands as he avoided eye contact. 

“It’s... it’s nothing,” He said weakly. “Sorry for pulling you away from the night.” 

“You’re lying, I can see you’re lying. What’s wrong? Did something happen?” 

Emile shook his head. “Nothing happened.” 

“Then why are you crying?” Remy asked. 

His voice was soft, gentle, like a moonbeam taken form. It enveloped Emile, comforting him, making him want to open up to Remy, to be honest and blurt out all of his feelings at once. He barely managed to suppress that urge. 

“I...” Emile began. 

He finally looked up at Remy, making eye contact with him – his brown, human eyes meeting the night sky as equals – and it was like a dam had suddenly burst. The tears started flowing again, dripping down his cheeks as his lower lip trembled. 

There was a blur of motion, and suddenly he was in Remy’s lap, arms wrapped around him, holding him tight. Emile inhaled shakily, before he buried his face in Remy’s shoulder, allowing himself to sob against him as Remy drew invisible constellations on his back with his finger. It was reassuring, comforting, but not enough to keep Emile from crying. 

His hands were in fists, bunching up Remy’s clothing, though he was sure the moon god looked as dignified as ever, despite the sobbing mess in his lap. 

“It’s okay,” Remy whispered. “It’ll all be okay.” 

“It’s not, it’s not okay.” Emile shook his head, pulling back and wiping his nose with his sleeve. He was sure he looked a mess, a very unattractive mess, but Remy was looking at him the same way he always did. 

Remy cupped his cheek, his brow creased. “What’s going on?” 

“I- I...” Emile trailed off, opening and closing his mouth a few times. “I don’t... I don’t know how to...” 

“Can’t find the right words?” Remy offered. 

Emile nodded. 

“Do you want me to take a look?” Remy asked carefully, gently brushing a stray lock of hair out of Emile’s face. 

Emile blinked, tilting his head, confused. “Take a look?” 

Remy reached out, lightly tapping the centre of Emile’s forehead with the tip of his finger. “I can look inside your mind, see what’s bothering you. It... it might be easier, but only if you want me to.” 

“Oh,” Emile said. “Oh, um... okay.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Emile nodded. 

“I won’t look at anything else,” Remy said gently. 

Then, he leant forward, pressing his lips to Emile’s forehead, and, for a brief moment, Emile saw stars – bright, twinkling stars – like there was a vision of the night sky flashing before his eyes: a shining moon and stars against a black backdrop. It was gorgeous, like staring right into Remy’s eyes, his hair, his clothes. Him. 

Then, the vision was gone, like waking up from a dream, and Remy pulled back. 

He was frowning, his brow pinched together, and Emile’s stomach filled with guilt. It rose in the back of his throat and left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

(How could he? He shouldn’t have gotten so upset over an inevitability. There was no point, and now Remy was upset, too.) 

“I’m sorry,” Emile whispered. “It was... it was a bad idea to let you see that.” 

Remy shook his head. “No. No, I’m glad you did,” He said softly, reaching out and cupping Emile’s face with his hand, stroking his cheek with his thumb. 

“It’s- it’s dumb, I know. You’re a god, I’m a human. We’re different. This relationship just means different things to us, that’s all. It’s... it’s just how these things work. I know that, and I should stop being upset about it.” 

“No,” Remy said firmly. “I love you.” 

Emile blinked, and then sighed. “Y-yeah, I know. I love you, too.” 

Remy shook his head, taking his other hand and cradling Emile’s face with it, too. “No, I _love_ you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. Ever.” 

Emile felt a little feverish – warm and red and a little bit fuzzy. He didn’t know what to think. Did Remy really mean that? He must’ve, right? He wouldn’t lie to Emile. 

“Anyone?” Emile squeaked. 

“Anyone.” 

There was a beat. 

“Oh, really?” 

Remy nodded. “Mhm.” 

“Oh, well... um. Me, too. I love you that much, too” Emile said, a little awkwardly. “What- what do we do?” 

Remy gave him a questioning look. 

“I mean... you’re a god, and I’m a human. I’m- I’m gonna grow up and die, and you... aren’t.” 

“Do you want to?” 

“What?” 

“Do you want to?” Remy repeated. “To grow up and die, I mean.” 

Emile tilted his head. “Is... is there another option?” 

Remy’s expression – it was one Emile wasn’t used to seeing on his face. It was thoughtful, almost calculating. He looked like he was thinking deeply about something, something Emile wasn’t supposed to be able to comprehend. He was as still as a statue, frozen, unblinking, and it took Emile reaching out and touching his face to unfreeze him, to snap him out of it. 

“Yes, there is,” He said. “We aren’t supposed to do it. It’s not really _allowed_ , but I can.” 

“Can do what?” 

“It would bind us together – almost like you’d become another part of me, but not really. You’d become immortal, just like me. You won’t die.” 

“You can do that?” Emile breathed. 

Remy nodded. “We’re not supposed to, so it’s only been done a few times. I’d need Thomas’s permission. And Patton’s, and Janus's.” 

“Do... do you think they’d allow it?” 

Remy grinned. “I can be very persuasive.” 

“And- and you’d do that? You’d really do that?” 

“Honey, I’d do _anything_ for you,” Remy said seriously, not a trace of insincerity on his face. 

Emile’s heart felt far too big for his ribcage, so full of love and adoration that it was practically about to burst, especially as – as a god – anything for Remy, meant _anything_. This almost felt too good to be true, but it was impossible to suppress the hope that built up inside of him. 

“It’s a big decision,” Remy continued, taking Emile’s hand in his own and fiddling with his fingers, tracing shapes across his palm. “The biggest you’ll ever make, probably, and it would be difficult to undo, uncomfortable, almost impossible. But you don’t have to make it now – or ever, if you don’t want to. I’ll wait as long as you need. And even if you say no, I’ll accept it. I won’t be upset.” 

Emile smiled. “Thank you.” 

*** 

It was time. 

After months and months and months of preparation and persuasion, it was finally time. 

Emile sat down on his bed, drumming his fingers on his knees and repetitively tapping the floorboards with his foot – the rhythm of a song Remy liked to sing to him. It was in a language Emile didn’t understand, from a country he knew nothing about, but it was always the quickest to lull him to sleep. It was his favourite. 

His eyes scanned the room – the drab walls, the little furniture (only a desk and a wardrobe, both worn out and second-hand). He’d miss this place, miss all the memories he’d made in it, but not enough to make him regret his choice. Nothing could ever make him regret this choice. 

Excitement bubbled up inside him, like a volcano ready to blow, and he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. 

The sun had gone down, the moon was high in the sky – full and shining brighter than usual, like it was happy, too. It was. 

Ecstatic. 

Emile laughed – loud and giddy. He couldn’t help it; he was just so overcome with love and joy and pure, overwhelming excitement. He kicked his legs, falling back onto his bed and spreading his arms out like a starfish as he giggled. 

“That’s my favourite sound in the whole damn world.” 

Emile sat up, spinning around and beaming when he spotted Remy, sat on the windowsill, one leg crossed over the other, an amused expression on his face, like the first moment they’d met. But before the god had the chance to get up and walk over to him, Emile hopped off the bed, bouncing over to him and wrapping his arms around Remy’s neck, kissing him quickly. He covered the god’s face in a million tiny kisses, before finally kissing him properly, without even taking a moment to catch his breath. 

When they pulled apart, Remy smiled. “I can’t believe I’m gonna get to hear it forever.” 

“Forever,” Emile repeated. “I can’t wait.” 

Remy nudged him gently. “You sure you’re not having any second thoughts?” He teased, though there was a hint of sincerity underneath. He had to check. 

“I’m sure.” 

“Good,” Remy smiled. “I love you.” 

“I know,” Emile replied. “I love you, too.” 

“Are you ready to go?” 

Emile nodded. “Mhm!” 

“Alright.” 

Remy looked around the room, scanning the furniture and Emile’s various belongings. The bed was made, the desk was empty. The clothes were all neatly tucked away in the closet. The poems were stacked in the desk drawers. Remy had read all of them, and loved and cherished every single one. 

“We can come collect your things tomorrow,” Remy continued, wrapping one arm around Emile’s waist, settling his hand on his hip. 

Emile covered Remy’s hand with his own, placing the other on Remy’s shoulder. “Will I need them?” 

“Nah, but you might want them.” 

“Okay,” Emile nodded. “Shall we go now?” 

Remy smiled, pecking him on the cheek. “Of course. Close your eyes.” 

Emile did as he was told, and as soon as he screwed his eyes shut, his vision filled with a bright white light, one that he was sure would’ve hurt him if he’d opened his eyes and looked directly at it, maybe even killed him – vaporised in an instant. The hand’s grip on his hip tightened, pulling him in closer, and for a moment, he felt like he was floating in mid-air, with only Remy pressed up against him. 

Then, his shoes hit the ground, and he stumbled, but Remy caught him quickly. 

He opened his eyes, looking around at his new, unfamiliar surroundings. 

Emile was now in a large, white room, with no doors or windows, but he could practically sense that it was still night outside. It was always night here, or, to be more specific, here was always where it was night. Always moving, always changing. It followed the moon, or maybe it _was_ the moon. Emile wasn’t supposed to know the answer to that. 

There were numerous large, white columns that towered above them, intricately designed and holding up the ceiling. It looked like they was all made of some kind of white rock – almost like marble, but not quite – smooth and strong. There was little furniture, and, right beside them, there was a replica of Emile’s room, with the same furniture, all laid out identically, though excluding the walls and ceiling, a stark contrast against the bright white of everything else around them. 

The only different was that the mattress, pillows and blankets all looked new – patterned like the night sky. 

Emile turned back to Remy, tilting his head, giving him a confused look. 

Remy gave him a slightly sheepish smile in return. “I figured I’d make things more comfortable for you. Is this alright?” 

Emile stood up on his tiptoes, pressing a quick kiss to Remy’s ice-cold cheek. “It’s perfect, thank you,” He smiled. “Is this where you live?” 

“Uh, kinda. I don’t really need to _live_ anywhere, I just exist. But, yeah, this is my home.” 

“I love it.” 

Remy smiled, taking Emile’s hand and kissing the knuckle, squeezing it lightly. 

“We should sit on the bed for this?” He said. “You... might pass out.” 

Emile wrinkled his nose. “Is it- is it gonna hurt?” He asked nervously. 

“I don’t know,” Remy answered honestly. “I think so, but I’ll do everything in my power to make sure it doesn’t, or to lessen it, at least.” 

Emile nodded, and Remy tugged gently on his arm, pulling him over to the bed. They sat down on the edge, and Emile found himself practically sinking into the mattress – it was so soft and squishy, like a delicate cloud; he could imagine himself sleeping in this bed for an eternity. 

Remy reached out, plucking the glasses from Emile’s face and placing them on the blanket on his other side. 

“Don’t wanna break these,” He said, turning back to Emile and tucking a stray lock of curly hair behind his ear. 

“Wouldn’t you be able to fix them?” 

Remy nodded. “Mhm. But, still, they mean a lot to you.” 

“Thank you.” 

Remy smiled, cradling Emile’s cheek. “Are you ready?” He asked. 

Emile nodded eagerly. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes! Yes, I’m sure,” Emile smiled, covering Remy’s hand with his own. “We’ve been talking about this a lot, and I’m certain. I love you, and I’ll love you forever.” 

“I love you, too.” 

Remy then leant forward, kissing Emile quickly, softly. It was cold, but comforting, and helped soothe Emile’s remaining nerves. 

Then, he reached up, pressing his thumb against the centre of Emile’s forehead. For a moment, nothing happened, and then his head went fuzzy, like someone was slowly replacing his brain with cotton, bit by bit. His eyelids got heavier and heavier, and he closed them just in time for his vision to go bright white again. This time, it seared his eyes like burning fire, a white-hot flame, and he screamed, loud and painful, the cry being ripped from his throat before he could stop himself. 

He heard Remy make a pained noise in front of him, helpless and distressed, but he didn’t pull his hand away. If Emile had been looking, he would’ve noticed that Remy was shaking. 

And then Emile blacked out. 

*** 

When he woke up, the first thing he saw was white. 

The white of the ceiling, the white of the walls. The white of Remy’s skin. 

Remy. 

Remy was holding him in his lap, rocking him back and forth in his arms, mumbling words in a language that Emile was surprised he understood. It was full of sounds he’d never heard before, sounds a human mouth couldn’t make, sounds a human ear couldn’t hear. He wouldn’t have been able to understand it before, but he could now. The language of the gods. 

It sounded like music, almost. Music that could lull Emile to sleep, if he let it. 

Emile pulled back, meeting Remy’s eyes. He looked concerned, worried – almost afraid, even – but didn’t say a word, just waited, watching. 

Emile’s breath caught in his throat (he didn’t even need it anymore, but old habits die hard), and his eyes widened. What Remy had looked like before, the eternal beauty that had stunned Emile every time he laid eyes on him, it was _nothing_ compared to how he looked now. 

It was like Emile was seeing him for the first time, with a fresh set of eyes. He could make out every detail of his face perfectly, even without his glasses. Remy still looked similar, recognisable, but so _so_ different. Flawless. Divine. 

He looked even more like a perfect statue – no pores on his face, not a hair out of place – like he was hand-carved by someone trying to create the perfect man. He matched the walls and the floor and the ceiling, like they were carved from the same stone. White skin. White lips. White teeth. Black hair. Black clothes. 

Black and white. Black and white. Black and white. 

Emile reached out, touching Remy’s face with his hands. 

His skin was warm, soft, and he didn’t even need to change anything to feel like that. He and Emile were made of the same stuff now – like two humans, on the same level, but divine. They felt the same. 

Emile’s fingers traced his features. His jaw. His cheekbones. His nose. His lips. Perfect. All perfect. 

And his eyes, _oh,_ his eyes. 

Before, they were like windows to the night sky: gorgeous and hypnotising, but still just that: windows. Now, they were so much more. 

Every star in the sky, every shooting comet – every swirling galaxy, every spinning planet. Emile had never seen the sky like this before, never seen these things so clearly, didn’t even recognise the majority of them, yet he could taste their names on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t need to say them aloud, to recite them like a poem, Remy already understood. 

Infinity. 

In his eyes, there was infinity. 

Remy was infinity, and now Emile was infinity, too. 

He could feel the power swirling under his skin, in the back of his throat, in the tips of his fingers. He could do anything, _anything._ Anything he wanted. 

Infinite possibilities. 

Emile leant forward, and kissed Remy. 


End file.
